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“I bet you scrubbed down the bathroom, every surface.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. We sanitize.”
“Lieutenant,” Eve corrected absently. “You wiped down the dresser, the counters, nightstand?”
“Oh, sure. Clean and comfortable. It’s hotel policy.”
“Light switches?”
“Sanitized.”
“Henry, I’m going to want sweepers—the crime scene unit—to go over the room. Just in case. Thanks,” she said to Tasha, opening the door to nudge her out. “Okay, Henry.” Eve pulled over the chair so she could sit across from him. “What did these two look like? Every detail you can remember, including what they wore.”
—
Satisfied she’d squeezed everything she could out of him, Eve sent Henry on his way, pulled out her ’link.
“Hey.” Peabody’s face—pink-cheeked—filled the screen. “Finished at the college. I’ll write that up, but there’s nothing so far. I’m on my way to the first building on First. Nothing on York I could find.”
“That’s because I found it on Second. Manhattan East Hotel, room 1004. Let Jenkinson and Reineke know.”
“You found the nest? Are you sure?”
“Would I be calling you off otherwise? Head to Second, meet me here. Save the questions,” Eve added before Peabody could ask another. She ended transmission, ordered the sweepers, contacted Detective Yancy, the police artist, then tagged Lowenbaum.
“That’s some luck you got, Dallas. You oughta be playing the horses.”
“You’re going to want to see this, Lowenbaum, and I’m going to want you to verify I’m not talking out of my ass when I say the right shooter could’ve made the strikes from here.”
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“I’m on my way.”
“Bring the laser rifle you figure with you, and a bipod.”
“Already on the list.”
After shoving the ’link back in her pocket, Eve wandered the room.
On the small side, she thought, but more than adequate.
Had to scout the room at least once before, alone most likely. Not with the partner. Had to be sure it could be done, and this was the place to do it.
Quiet hotel, no cams, but solid security on the guest room doors. Nobody’s going to stroll in unexpectedly. Just a guy and his teenage kid traveling to New York—who pays attention?
Henry Whipple, she thought—and yeah, that was some luck.
Book the room—bogus ID, but the card used to register has to pass hotel scan, so it’s good bogus. Carry your own bags, come up, lock the door, put on the privacy light, then—
She kept walking through it as she moved to the door to answer the knock, let in a slightly out-of-breath Peabody.
“How did you—”
“Front desk clerk who pays attention. Suspect was traveling with what Henry—front desk—believed was his minor child—teenage type. Not sure on gender. ID’s bogus, but we’ll push on it deeper. Philip Carson, East Washington. Requested this room specifically.”
Eve pulled out her field glasses. “Have a look.”
Peabody moved to the window, looked out. “Wow, it’s a really long way, but yeah, it’s a good view of the rink.”
